It was a gray
winter evening. She held the coffee mug firmly with both her hands,
deriving warmth, as she looked out the open window, not really seeing
the present.
"But your mug
is empty, Aunt." stated Maggie, as she settled close to her aunt, with her own cup of hot chocolate.
"Yes, dear,
like my life. But, it's full of your Uncle's memories, again, like my
life." she smiled gently at her niece.
Her husband had
passed away, nearly ten years ago, in a fire that had consumed their
home and her life. All their worldly possessions and her world, had
perished; save this coffee mug that belonged to him. She had found it
amongst the charred remains, a little chipped but somehow, basically
intact.
It was the only
tangible memory she had of him now, the only material thing which held all the other memories, the only physical connection to her past.
